Draco Malfoy's Courtyard for Cat's
by Sar'Kalu
Summary: An exploration into grief, loss and pain as well as survivors guilt and the trauma of war. I cannot guarantee that everyone will like it, and this is certainly AU, it's also very emotional. Reviews would be welcome, so please, tell me what you think. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter based fic, set after the seventh book, ignores the epilogue. Not Drarry!


**Draco Malfoy's Courtyard for Cat's**

**Chapter One: Remember Us, Remember The Fallen, Remember Everything**

**D**raco Malfoy, six foot tall, burning hunk of adonis male was depressed. His normally icy cold grey eyes were shadowed and sad, his usual sneering mouth was down turned into a drooping frown, and his forehead was puckered, not in anger but melancholy. It was the three year anniversary after the war, and much like previous years, Draco was consumed with thoughts of people who had been lost and what he personally had lost. It was times like these that Draco would sit in the little courtyard garden just off the main pathway to the Greenhouses.

**I**t was beautiful there in his courtyard. Not actually his, but planted next to a small path that travelled from the green houses to the castle to one of the long-since-boarded-up side doors. It had four walled walls, each draped in vines, the little stone path traversed in a circular fashion towards the middle where a marble statue and fountain stood. The statue depicted two young men with swords and bucklers, their faces alternatively amused and stern. The first had one arm stretched out, the other half curled around his friends shoulder, his sword in his hand. His stance was both confident and happy, and one couldn't help but feel that the man was to be trusted. The other was pressed tightly against his friends side, his face seemingly unhappy, but his eyes told otherwise. His sword was resting idly in its scabbard, his left hand upon it, his right arm was wrapped around his friends waist, ensuring the viewer knew that these two men were together and forever unbeatable. Their dress was old fashioned, and somehow, although not for certain, Draco knew these men to be Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. Beside the two men stood their familiars, one was a thick, coiled snake, it's eyes half closed as though it rested in the sunshine. The other was a hawk that was in the process of landing upon Godric's arm, it's wings flared out in flight.

**T**he courtyard in the spring was sprinkled with flowers wild and foreign, their petaled faces upturned to the gentle sunlight and their haze of perfume enveloping the small space. In autumn it was filled with crackling leaves and dreary thistles and dry grasses, but it still held a certain lovelorn beauty; as the trees turned from green to gold and thence to red and showered the courtyard in their leafy coats. In winter it was harshly cold, the courtyard turned into an icy expanse, the sky a muted steel grey over the brown frosted ground and eventually thickly piled snow, where every step was a forced movement towards the goal of Draco's bench. But it was summer that Draco loved most, where the trees were emerald green and the grass thick and lush, Draco could sit in his tiny corner of paradise, forgetting the world and his students for a while. The courtyard was small, for sure, but for Draco it was an escape from the realities of his situation. Draco was on permanent parol, despite Potters sponsoring at the end of the war, Draco was still treated with suspicion and contempt, sneering faces followed him everywhere wherever he went. Ugly faces spat at him, twisted mouths jeered and called him innumerable names. But here, here in this tiny space Draco could drop the cold front and be himself, just the tiny lost boy he used to be, who was now a not so tiny, but still equally sad and lost man.

**A**s Draco reclined upon his seat in the courtyard, the first of his companions showed up. For some reason Hogwarts' cats had adopted him during this time. Oh they never ventured into his classroom, nor did they bother him outside of this hour that he set aside for himself each afternoon. It was here that Draco could relax, and relax he did, surrounded by scores of cats pressing their furred bodies into him and purring loudly with thunderous appreciation as he stroked and petted each and every one of them. As per usual the first cat that leapt up onto the seat beside him today, was the white female with her pink Rhinestone studded collar and pink twitchy nose, her eyes the clearest sky blue, which was probably why her owner had named her Sky as the tag beneath her collar proclaimed. Unoriginal to be sure, but Draco didn't mind, he never called their names, he only ever spoke when he told his stories, stories of the war that usually ended with him breaking down in shattered tears. This was his time and he had it in silence or tears only broken by the mews and purrs of Hogwarts' cats. Stroking the three cats that had turned up so far, Draco spotted his most intriguing visitor. A large black maned lion, obviously an animagus. His coat was practically white from scarring, giving him a tigerish look with the occasional golden stripe of his true colour standing out. His mane was the most luscious black and his face was split by an ugly, jagged scar that ran through burning green-gold eyes. Anonymity lay between Draco and He, never speaking to each other outside their classes.

**A**fter all, every warrior in that god-awful war was both scarred, sad, lost, and angry; having lost far too much, and gained nothing in return for the freedom of the magical community. The lion was forced, like he was, to teach; for crimes he committed against humanity and for the loss of so many people. Despite the fact that originally, everyone called him Savior. If Draco wasn't mistaken, he had once wanted to be an auror, his life dedicated to saving the world each week. Now though, now he was relegated to paper pushing and filling out forms as the Deputy Headmaster under McGonagall. Draco was equally chained here, his task that of ensuing the snot nosed brats didn't blow up the castle with their potions. His assistance to Slughorn was ending soon though, with the walrus of a man once again thinking of retreating into retirement. All the ex-Death Eaters had been shoved and chained into community service, their circumstances affording nothing more to them, regardless of their personal situations within the war. Some like his friend Theodore Nott had been placed into Azkaban for treason or other trumped up charges, others like himself relegated to teaching. People like Hermione Granger who had fought for the light side had been given a certain amount of choice in their posting, while others like the lion before him had been placed into any slot that the ministry could find.

**D**raco sighed as he tipped his head back and stared up at the azure sky, it was so normal out here, so peaceful and calm. The cicadas sang from the bushes and the frogs croaked loudly under the awning of thickly growing vines, the ground still wet from last nights rain. The wind danced through the trees, lifting sweaty shirts from sticky backs and carried the sound of children laughing and singing to Draco's ears. As he listened to the sounds of life around him, the rustle of a leaf on the flagstones, the rasp of a tongue on fur, Draco felt himself more removed from it all. He never really felt comfortable here, his life without purpose, only waiting until he was ready to die, this time from the slow descent of time, not the onrushing killing spell of maniacal laughter of a crazed Death Eater. Draco closed his eyes, the scenes of the battle chasing like dogs after a butterfly behind his lids. His eyes burned and his throat tightened, slowly Draco opened his mouth, drawing in a ragged breath as guilt, horror, fear and grief swelled within him like a storm contained in a bottle.

**S**hooting forward to snap his feet on the ground and arms on his knees with his face on his palms, Draco projected a picture of overwhelming guilt and grief. Not that he cared, because he was being haunted with the memories of the past. The lion lay on the brick work that held a flower bed, his back crushing the peonies that were flowering behind him. His green-gold gaze was settled on Draco, knowing that it would only be minutes until the other man began to recite the names of those who were fallen, and now always remembered. Resting his mighty head upon his front paws, the lion felt his own memories swirl under the surface of his thoughts, their snatching fingers catching his relaxed mood and dragging it down and tearing it to pieces. As Draco's shoulders began to shake, so too did the lions, thick pearly tears streaked down the scarred and ragged muzzle, leaving dark streaks of gold behind.

**D**raco gripped his hair in his hands, pulling and tugging it out viciously, his throat choking upon the tears that dropped from his tightly closed eyes. The cats that had been startled by his violent movement, were back, their furry little bodies pressing against him and rumbling little purrs, trying to comfort the broken man before them. Trapped as Draco was, within his own mind, he never felt them, but somehow knew they were there. Regardless of this happening each and every afternoon, Draco nonetheless drew comfort from the creatures that offered it. Soothing his thickened throat, Draco sat up and leaned back, his hair an utter mess from where his fingers had tangled in it. Settling his eyes upon the lion whose face was streaked by tears, Draco began to name those closest to them that had fallen and been lost. The lion keeping pace with each name uttered with a rumble of his own, together the two men stared at each other, each trapped in the embittered memories of the battle that cost so many their lives.

"Albus Dumbledore." Draco said thickly, his eyes pained. This name always gave him the most pain, it had been his fault, never mind that hadn't actually cast the curse that killed the man. Sucking in a breath and blowing it out, Draco spoke again.

"Severus Snape." Snape, never the nicest of men, but one who Draco had idolized for years, this time it was the lion who drew in a ragged breath, his eyes shining with hurt and tears. Draco had heard his tale, the tale of the Half Blood Prince, and it had awed and humbled him so much that he would assuredly continue to name him in the future.

"Lucius Malfoy." His father, killed for treason and uprising, and half a dozen other crimes against the wizard nation. Either way, Draco only named him because of the familial bond, not because he missed the blonde.

"Ronald Weasley." This time both man and lion dragged in huge sucking breaths, trying to hold the tears at bay. Ron technically hadn't died in the battle, but afterwards, his death occurring in a drawn out skirmish against rogue dark wizards. Like Black, he had died with a laugh etched upon his face, leaving his widow behind with a three month old daughter. Rose would be two this week.

"Fred Weasley." Draco whispered, in his opinion the hottest of the twins, and hilariously funny. Always laughing his death had almost killed George who Draco now knew quite well. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was still going strong, but George left the running of it to Hermione now, his time spent with drinking and generally self distructive habits. Molly and Arthur were constantly crying and devastated, Fred's death had nearly ruined the family, and Ron's had hit it home.

"Sirius Black." Draco had never know the man, but had heard his story time after time. Besides, another familial bond to be named and honored, it was the right thing to do. His voice cracking now as he listed the next name.

"Remus Lupin." This one as some of the others were specifically for the lion, Draco never showed in any other way how he knew who the other was, but either way, Lupin deserved to be named. Not to mention that Draco felt guilty for the mans death as it had been his own father to cast the spell that had killed the werewolf.

"Nymphadora Tonks Lupin." Draco stammered, his eyes filling with tears now. He'd never met his cousin, but her son was completely delightful and Draco felt for Teddy when he grew. Potter had hated growing up an orphan, he and Draco had had many a conversation after the war sorting out old school regrets and grievances. Strangely both had quickly bonded over tea and Teddy, the kid was just that cute. Bellatrix Lestrange had been the one to kill her niece, and left Harry a father at nineteen, Andromeda had died a year ago from complications with her heart.

**D**raco paused, he felt so tight around his chest and his face was in a rictus of pain, the renaming of the brethren lost was an anniversary of torture that both lion and man went through, their respect and honoring of the dead keeping them sane on a usually sad and torturous day. Drawing in a fortifying breath, Draco wiped his face clean of the ropes of tears, mucus and spittle that streaked his face, and set feelings once more and continued.

"Colin Creevey." Draco hadn't known the kid, but he was determined to include him. Besides, Colin had only been fifteen, his brother had been devastated by his loss and every year on the anniversary, Dennis came to Hogwarts with a wreath and lay it upon the place his brother fell. Draco had joined him once and had been so distraught by the younger mans screams and grief that he'd had to leave. Draco never really questioned that watching someone's grief was more traumatic than the actual event of the battle itself.

"Vincent Crabbe." Friend, and resident idiot, Crabbe had reluctantly guarded Draco for years, on his father orders for sure, but Draco liked to think that at the end, they could have called each other friend.

"Pansy Parkinson." Dead from an exploding spell that had been meant for Granger. Realistically she had deserved it, running back onto the battlefield to save a young hufflepuff student who had been looking for his elder brother when she'd been sent away to safety. Her parents had been devastated, as had Draco when he had found out. Pansy had helped hide Draco's own sexual deviances from his father. Draco owed her a lot, and the Hufflepuff student honoured her memory each year, along with those that the recalcitrant heroine had saved that horrible day.

"Blaise Zabini." He'd been killed days after the war in a general act of terrorism, he'd been in South Wales when his mothers contact in a rare art dealing shot him with a gun and stuck the dark mark above his head. The man was caught three months later over the body of Gwenog Jones, the captain of the Holyhead Harpies. There had been a Dark Mark on his arm, something that had sent the nation spiraling into panic once more, and had made the upcoming trials for the rehabilitation of the ex-Death Eaters harder on everyone, resulting in the current restrictions becoming tighter and in two of the older, inner circle members executed.

**B**y now Draco was unable to continue, his breathing was hitching and his face crumpling in on itself. His friends and relatives were all dead, all gone, all lost. In front of him the lion sat, his head hanging low and mane falling into his eyes, his sides moving like bellows as he tried to hold back the roar of rage and pain. Draco wasn't in much of a better state, his hair mussed and his chest heaving with dry shuddering sobs. Two pairs of eyes locked as they wrestled with their inner emotions. Three years of pain and suffering, three years of remembering the dead, three years of convincing their minds that it was over, only to wake sweating and raw throated after screaming themselves hoarse each night with nightmares. And so here they sat, their eyes tilted to the sky, tears leaking from the corners; their mouths open in silent screams of anguish, throats too clogged for noise to escape. Draco's hands gripped the bench's lip and throttled it, his knuckled white as finally, a sound built up and escaped. It started, like a whistling hiccup, building as his mouth moved in accompaniment to his anguish. Lips white with the strain of being pulled over his teeth, and his head shaking from side to side in anger, grief, guilt and sorrow. The thin whistle changed to sobs, building as his tension did so, like an inevitable train wreck heading towards an overpopulated station. The cry ripped itself from his throat, tearing free like as though it wasn't three years later, as if he were still standing before the faces he saw behind his twisted lids and haunted nightmares. Their's was a war generation, a generation bred for a war not their own, they'd grown up with the violence, grown up in fear and terror, grown up learning curses and hexes in order to survive, grown up learning how to kill, to torture and to strike fear in the hearts of other men. Theirs was a generation of war, and despite the loss, despite the pain they suffered, they missed it. They had been conditioned for it, and that was the saddest thing of all.

**D**raco spent the next half hour calming himself down, his breathing slowing down to its normal rhythm, while the lion took less time and slunk away, his head hanging low and posture despondent. Once he was calm, Draco cleaned himself up and in the gathering darkness left his little courtyard behind. The cats, one by one, dispersed, their tails snaking question marks and their little mewling voices chased Draco as he entered the Entrance Hall. Stepping just inside the heavy doors, Draco hoisted up his usual mask of forbidding, and with long smooth strides, entered the Great Hall. Draco swept passed the student, his face set into a scowl as he made his way up to the staff table. Taking his usual seat next to Potter and Slughorn, Draco neatly and quickly served himself food, only to spend dinner pushing it around and not eat a single bite. Beside him, Potter was much the same, green eyes haunted and unseeing as the pictures of the war crowded behind those emerald orbs, and his long fingered hands chased his food in circles around his plate.

"Potter," Draco said softly, his voice not loud enough to be overheard.

"Malfoy." Potter acknowledged.

Draco sucked in a breath through his suddenly tight throat. "Hogs Head?" He asked quietly.

Potter blinked slowly. "God yes." He agreed fervently.

**B**eside Potter, McGonagall looked over at her youngest staff members, her blue eyes concerned. She knew that the young men would be going to the pub tonight and probably drinking themselves under the table as they did every year. Precisely the nature of their relationship, she wasn't certain, but all she knew was that both were depressed and haunted by the past. All their generation was. She watched as the young men stood, not yet twenty one, and exit the hall. Each oblivious to the stares and whispers that followed them. McGongall sighed and returned to her food, there was nothing she could do, nothing she could change, and frankly she didn't think either man wanted change, both to wrapped up in the past like Severus had been; torn between the living and the dead. Their's was a hard lot to live with. Hard and lonely.

* * *

**T**he next morning dawned bright and sunny, the sky dotted with clouds that would at some stage during the afternoon form a blanket of steel grey and cover the sky and grounds with rain. But for now, it was a Thursday, a school day, and Draco was desperately hung over in his rooms. Draco stood and staggered to the bathroom, his boxers rucked up and twisted around his long pale legs. Draco was no longer the skinny handsome teen he had been at school, at almost twenty one he was a long lithe figure with pale white skin and not enough meat upon his bones. His shoulder blades stood in stark relief under his skin, and his spine was easily seen curving down the middle of his back. His once muscular legs that had held onto a broom were closer to sticks, the muscles beneath them thin and rangy, like a dogs with not enough food available. Standing in front of his mirror, Draco swept his silvery grey eyes over his pointed features and hollow cheeks. It couldn't be clearer that he wasn't eating; mind you, Potter looked much the same. The anniversary usually meant accidental starvation, hollowing cheeks and bellies; and stripping of the nonexistent fat from their bones.

**S**nagging a bottle of headache reliever and sobriety potions, Draco chugged them down as he set about preparing himself for the day. Once the usual primping, showering and glamoring had taken place, Draco slipped from his room to the first class of the day. He had Seventh year Gryffindor and Ravenclaws today, Draco had point blank refused to put the lions and snakes together as they once had during his time. The halls were silent, being only seven am, but it was still a pleasant time to be awake. Opening his classroom, Draco slipped inside and began to set it up. Washing down the benches and cleaning and rearranging the cupboard quickly. It took him around half an hour to sort everything out, then he seated himself in his chair and began to mark yesterday's essays.

**B**reakfast was ignored in favour for setting up the classrooms, and in separate parts of the castle cold eyes swept over the tripping and piling bodies of students as they raced to sit in their chairs, eager and hesitant faces peering up at their ravaged teachers. Cold voices barked out orders and fearful students snapped too, worried glances shot at the turned backs of their favourite teachers and careful voices whispered words of worry between them. The day passed as it usually did, students walking in, cauldrons exploding and himself trying not to lose his temper. Lunch time could not come quick enough and with long quick strides, Draco made for the a Great Hall, his grey eyes sweeping its length forbiddingly. First and second years sunk in their seats while the fourth years and up sadly watched the young men seat themselves stiffly in their seats and eat nothing. Weariness settled in their bones and the seventh years sighed in their own remembrance of the war years, sickened by the displays of violence and terror that had occurred within these very halls.

**D**raco turned to Potter, his mind still hesitantly calling the man by his last name, without reason to change. "You okay?"

"No." Potter replied, quietly, both knew they weren't and so neither lied to the other and pretended. "Staff meeting this afternoon."

**D**raco grimaced and bit his lip, staff meetings on these days never went well, Potter and he were invariably angry and angst ridden. He sighed heavily and nodded tiredly, "thanks."

"No problem." Potter paused, almost hesitantly, "this Saturday..." He trailed off and Draco stiffened, not wanting to talk about it, let alone think about it. Potter subsided and didn't talk again despite Flitwick attempting to engage him in conversation.

**D**raco stood and returned to his classroom, awaiting the end of the day. The afternoon passed swiftly enough and as the clocks chimed three times he sent his students packing with a well placed glare. His day however, was not quite over and with the same long stride he affected on the way to lunch, he swept towards the staff room. He glared meanly around at the malign halls of students, nurturing egos and taking points with swift snappish words. It was no wonder Professor Snape had hated teaching, the dragging weight of time and the monotony of life in a classroom after a lifetime of war was mind-numbingly dull. As Draco made tracks to the staffroom, none of his or Harry's students were surprised at his actions despite having only been teaching for the past two years, nearly three now. They had all learnt that both Professors Potter and Malfoy were vicious the day after the anniversary of the war, and had learnt to pass on the warning to the younger years. Despite their fits of temper and occasional episodes of shouting at the students, both were very well respected and looked up to. Professor Malfoy was quickly becoming well know for his cutting and barbed sense of humour that often had the students in his class snickering for all they were worth. While Professor Potter was kind hearted and never failed to help anyone if they asked for it.

**W**hen Draco arrived at the staff room he did so in a seriously bad mood, although he at didn't look like he was liable to murder someone in a homicidal rage. Potter also looked beyond pissed off as he stood staring out over the grounds; his entire body language screamed anger and tension, and as Draco stalked in his face a stiff mask, Potter turned around and met Draco's eyes. The rest staff quickly realized that Draco was no better in the aftermath of last nights binge and despite the apparent coolness of lunch and the conversations that had followed; the emotional roller coaster ride that had been the past twenty four hours had clearly taken a toll upon both men, something that no staff member wanted to poke with a ten foot pole.

**E**yeing the two men like they were about to explode, both Flitwick, Hooch and Sprout began to start wishing that it was only Severus Snape was there; Severus had been difficult to deal with, but at least he had been the picture of self control. Completely unlike the two young men; both of whom refused any kind of assistance, (although that was a bit like old snarky bastard, they admitted within the quietness if their minds) but at least Severus hadn't left them doubting he was adequate when it came to dealing with students. As the other staff were contemplating this, Potter walked over to Draco and took his seat beside him, his face stiff and carved into harsh lines of annoyance. Everything about him said something other than last night was wrong.

"What happened?" Draco asked, his voice cool.

**P**otter growled under his breath and his hard green eyes met Draco's slashing grey ones. "Levison blew up Warner in a mock duel. Nearly took his leg off." Harry's mouth became even more set. He didn't like it when his students mucked around and didn't take his subject seriously. This was owing of the aftermath of the war that had left Malfoy and Potter, according to their colleagues, all with serious control issues, desperate to keep their students safe, both Draco and Potter were strict when it came to accidents, detentions from such incidents usually stuck with the victims for life.

**D**raco muttered a few choice swear words under his breath. "Idiots." He finished, his grey eyes staring a hole into the heavy wood of the table. Both Draco and Potter had mirroring postures, their legs stretched out and arms wrapped around their chests with their robes pulled tight against them. Defensive, it was the only description for it, and Sprout and Flitwick felt pity and sympathy well in their chests, while Hooch frowned with compassion as the other staff trickled in, ignoring the mulish young men who were discussing their troublesome students quietly at the end of the table. When Minerva McGonagall arrived, she slipped into her chair and arranged her paperwork around her before speaking.

"Okay everyone, fifth staff meeting of fourth term." McGonagall said, her stern voice whipping out over the tension filled room. She was quick to notice that pretty much everyone was avoiding the eyes of both Malfoy and Potter, and she felt nerves creep along her spine. She had forgotten that yesterday had been the anniversary when she'd scheduled this, hopefully there wouldn't be a repeat of their first year of teaching (it had been ugly). "The Slytherin students have reported that they are being prosecuted for their apparent crimes."

**D**raco stiffened, and beside him Potter scowled. "Prosecuted?" Draco asked quietly, his voice nonetheless able to be heard by everyone.

"Indeed Mr. Malfoy, it appears that students from the other houses are targeting them and hexing and cursing them." McGonagall replied, her eyes resting upon her potions professor and deputy. There had been a few complaints when Potter had been given the position, but he had shown himself to be more than competent for the job. The general conversation revolved around taking points and assigning detentions to the perpetrators, both Draco and Potter were silently listening to the talk and neither agreed with the suggested ideas.

"Why not split them up into years rather than houses?" Potter finally said, his voice tired. "The house issues aren't going to go away, and if we get rid of the houses then I'm sure that it will halt or at least lessen."

**T**here was a stunned silence, the older professors gaped at the younger man, they all noticed that Draco was nodding his head in agreement, his face as tired as Potters voice. This wasn't the first time that Draco had heard Potters thoughts on the subject, in fact each time they went out he pretty much heard the entire spiel, and frankly he agreed with the man. The house divisions weren't going to change, and really, it would be stupid to try and fix them anyway. Therefore split them into years and be done with it. Which is pretty much what Draco said when the other staff didn't speak.

"You cannot be serious." McGonagall asked Potter, her face was incredulous, clearly she didn't know what to think about Potter's suggestion that flew in the face of a thousand years tradition.

"Of course he is." Draco snapped, defending his not quite friend, but no longer enemy either. "There is more harm than good keeping the houses, sure, once it worked, but right now kids are being targeted because they wear green. It's not safe, it's not healthy and it's hard to keep track of." Potter was watching him, amused.

"I believe that my line." Potter chuckled, his green eyes dancing. "I see you listened and took note of my rants." The other staff blinked in surprise at the comrade like behaviour between Potter and Malfoy.

**D**raco scowled at him. "Yeah, well, you were making sense at the time. If you ever tell anyone I said that I'll deny it."

**P**otter laughed. McGonagall rolled her eyes in agreement, Malfoy shouldn't have said that out loud in the staff room if he wanted plausible deniability in his comments.

**T**he rest of the meeting was resolved with less than controversial ideas. Mostly trying to revise the banned list, adding items and removing the less than dangerous ones, while Hooch once again brought up the necessity of new brooms for the school. When the meeting ended, Draco stood along with Potter and the pair of them left the room walking side by side, each of their expressions cold and forbidding. In Draco's opinion, Potter had finally grown into himself as the end of the war, his body may be overly thin, much like Draco's own, and his legs long and rangy; but the man carried himself with a certain grace and confidence. Potter's hands were broad and strong, the fingers were long and thin and able to illustrate his points with effectual elegance as he waved, flared and gestured gracefully and expressively when the he talked with enthusiasm. His face was lined and scared, his old scar that had made him so famous once, had split open during the battle and now ran across his forehead down his nose and then cut across his cheek and mouth. His eyes were his most glorious feature, they burned with a vengeance when he was angry, danced when he rarely laughed and shone with pools of sorrow when he wept. He was the envy of every man and the fantasy of every woman.

**T**ogether the duo stalked into the Great Hall, long legs making strides down the center isle to the head table, their faces scowling but their eyes dancing. All around them the students breathed a sigh of relief, their teachers apparently no longer quite as volatile. The two men sat side by side and idly talked, their topics wide ranging and occasionally rather explosive. As one they two men stood at the end and walked outside, striding side by side once again they, in one mind, walked to Draco's Courtyard. The cats were already there and waiting for them, their small furry bodies tucked up and rumbling purrs. However unlike usual, Potter sat himself down next to Draco and scooped up a tawny colored female, a chunk of her ear missing. Draco was once again imperiously chosen by Sky, her blue eyes watching the smaller tawny female warily, as if daring her to come closer and steal her human.

**A**s the minutes slipped by, Draco found himself wondering whether Potter ever felt guilt for not doing enough during the war. His hesitant question had the other man turning grief filled eyes upon him and silently nodding. Sighing both men returned to their silent contemplation, the night falling like a velvet curtain, draping the world in shadows. Above them the castle stood illuminated by candles and sconces, the flickering light coloring the stones in golds and reds. The courtyard was unlit, and above them the stars wheeled and turned in a dazzling display. And behind them, the croaks of frogs, and rasping of the crickets in the grass sang a musical accompaniment to nature herself.

"Do you also feel bad for having such peace while they did not?"

**T**he question was startlingly random, simple, but incredibly complex; and as Draco mused on the question he had to admit it certainly was a query that he himself had contemplated at times, if not truly seriously, the answer was one he wasn't sure he could admit to himself. It was too soon for him to think on, and yet, now, here was his comrade asking it of him, curious for his own answer. Draco heaved a sigh and turned his introspective thoughts inwards; did he? Honestly? He could honestly say that he missed them, that he felt bad that they died. But did he feel bad for living in a time of peace while they hadn't? "No." He said finally, guiltily, like he had betrayed the memories of the fallen.

**P**otter frowned. "Why not?"

"Because all I feel is envy that they perished and I did not. I feel guilty for surviving, and I feel envy that they have true peace while I sit here missing the war and my freedom."

**P**otter sat quietly, clearly thinking on Draco's words. "I understand what you mean." Potter's face screwed up, deep lines of sorrow folding the corners of his eyes and mouth, casting his face into a mold of self loathing. "For peace time, I don't feel very peaceful."

**D**raco hummed in agreement. The sky was dark now, the horizon no longer lit up with a ball of burning gold. The trees stood like sentinels, watching over the two war veterans below, their leaves rustling with news on the wind. The forest echoed with the calls of wild animals, and for a moment in time the two men in the courtyard could sit in silence and feel as though they weren't any bigger than the smallest ant and they didn't have the burdens of the world upon their shoulders. That they hadn't seen the horrors of war, that they were nothing but two men sharing a silent view of the world.

"Why are you here Potter?" Draco asked finally, his grey eyes grave as they rested upon his companion.

**P**otter paused, clearly not expecting that question. "Because the Ministry doesn't trust me, much as yourself." He said finally, keeping his the answer simple, ignoring the fact that he was obviously and deliberately misinterpreting the question that had been asked of him.

"That's not what I mean." Draco said calmly, ignoring the side stepping deception. "Why here, why haven't you joined them? If you're anything like me you've definitely thought about it."

**P**otter froze. "Many times." He breathed, his green eyes tortured. Green eyes closed in silent agony, squeezing tightly against the flashing images that raced behind his closed lids. Beside him a small cat shifted his weight, and the cat on his lap sighed deeply, falling into deeper sleep.

"Then why?" Draco asked, suddenly desperate to know how this man beside him ticked, how he worked, how he thought, why he did as he did. If Potter's answer was the same as his own. If he Draco, had chosen correctly as well. "Why haven't you?" Draco could feel the strain on his voice, turning it harsh and sharp, his silvery eyes fixed upon Potter's thin face with a pathetic desperation that showed the need, the desire for an answer that he could understand.

"Why haven't you?"

**D**raco blinked at the rejoinder. Why hadn't he? "Because..." Draco trailed off.

"Because what?" He was pressed.

"It wouldn't feel right. They died so I could live, so I could find freedom. It would be cowardly and wrong."

**N**odding in quiet agreement, Potter let out a dragging sigh, his chest heaving. Long fingers dug meanly into the pelt of the cat on his lap, and it squirmed in discomfort. Finally, after a few moments, Potter frowned and asked:

"But are we free?"

"No." Draco sighed, his gaze returned to the stone walls of the castle. They seemed tall and strong, the shadows hiding their pitted, scarred facade behind the darkness. Where were his and Potter's shadows, where was their ability to hide their scars and broken features? "I feel fettered and shackled, only this time it's a pretence of freedom, at least under the Dark Lord I was obviously and clearly a slave, without choice. It's not so clear and obvious now, this is not the life I thought I would have once you won. It's not the life any of us expected."

"No it's not. I know that which I envisioned when I was fifteen makes my life now a far heavier burden to bear. Indeed, I often wonder if it was all worth it." Potter breathed out, practically silent. Draco nodded and closed his eyes against the strain of the darkening sky. His own tortured past flashed against the backdrop of the dark; the screams echoed tinnily in his ears, swirling and pounding to the beat of his rasping breath and fluttering heart.

**D**raco missed Potter's movements, as the man nodded and once again, his green eyes intently focussed on the statue that graced the middle of the courtyard. Potter seemed to ignore Draco's harsh ragged breathing, before Draco once again lapsed into silence, his eyes opening once again to stare dully at the cat in his lap. As the minutes again ticked by Draco began to question himself. What exactly was holding him here? He spent his days teaching kids who didn't appreciate it, he honestly could say he hated the job, it didn't benefit him, or anyone else for that matter. He also could say with ease that his parents hadn't died to save him, and that his taking his life would probably solve more problems than it would cause. And frankly, he was sick of living this half existence.

"I can't die." Potter said finally, his voice dull and emotionless.

**D**raco started, the noise unexpected. For a moment he was back, pinned against the wall by a fellow death eater, his face twisted in a snarl behind the featureless bone mask. Can't or won't, Draco wondered, unknowingly voicing the question. He wasn't certain he wanted the answered either.

**P**otter laughed sadly, bitterly. It was such a sorrowful sound, the man's voice cracking and breaking, the harshness an echo of a broken soul. The tawny female cat slipped from his lap and lay at his feet, clearly sick of the movement and pain that came as Potter inscribed his thoughts and inner turmoil with his fingers. As Draco watched uncertainly, Potter sat forward suddenly, his movements a half aborted lurch. "I- I wish I could die, but I can't, I just cant. I promised them, you see. Oh for the freedom of such a promise."

**D**raco stared at the broken hiccuping form of Potter, no Harry; they were, after all, closer than friends and far more distant than enemies now, and here in front of him was a man distraught and tortured by his pain, his face a fractured mask of sorrow; his eyes staring forward, sightlessly with the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief as he opened his mouth in a terribly frightening, but soundless scream. The upwelling of emotion upon his face and in his heart far too much to be held in. No sound emerged for close to a minute, the pressure that was showing in the corded muscles of Harry's neck clearly indicating that the man was near exploding. Then, a small but strangled sound escaped, and all Draco could do was wrap his arms around the weeping man, holding him tightly. Harry shook like he would shatter into a million pieces, and Draco also felt himself screaming and sobbing in horrible grief. It was different now, the previously unvoiced questions and answers, topped on little to no sleep and unhealthily dwelling minds, split the pair like nuts under a hammer. They cracked, and broke down, their screams and sobs swelling and choking their throats, and as one, they fell to their knees.

**H**ad anyone appeared in the stone archway just then, they would have seen a huddled black haired male, crouched in a foetal position. His companions arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and the black haired males hands squeezing the blondes forearms with a frightening and bruising pressure. The blondes face was hidden in the black haired mans necks, a flush of blood staining his neck as the blonde tried to hold his choking sobs inside. Around the pair twined dozens of cats, their lamp like eyes affixed upon the grieving males, paws padding and scuffing the ground as they wended their way around the pair.

**A**bove the pair stood the statue of two young men, the amused but stern faces seemed to have a sorrowful cast to them as they stared down at the pair below them. The pair were quietening now, their shoulders no longer shuddering in their desperate and hateful sorrow. A clatter outside the wall heralded the arrival of a woman, her expression full of pity and compassion as she faltered to a stop at the sight. A wrinkled and frail hand was lifted to her mouth as she stared at the pair, so wrapped up in their world were they that they missed the sprinkle of tears that fell from her eyes, nor did they see her transform herself into a small tabby cat. Her purrs and inquiring meows hardly breaking into the shuddering pairs fractured minds and thoughts.

* * *

**T**he next morning found Draco and Harry crashed out in the hospital wing, their faces smooth and calm, and their watchers couldn't help but see the strain of their sorrow that was stamped on their features, even in slumber. Deep lines were carved into the corners of their mouths, and frown lines, not completely gone, lined their foreheads. And in sad comparison, the lines at the corners of their eyes were nonexistent. McGonagall and Pomfrey stood at the foot of the brass beds, their minds in contemplation of the pair that were unconscious before them.

"I've never seen anything like it, Poppy" McGonagall was saying, her Scottish lilt tarring her words with concern.

**P**omfrey nodded silently, she had seen the same in the other survivors, and truly, it was worrying. The young men before her were not the only ones struggling to deal with the trauma that had befallen them. Indeed, more than a few were currently locked up in Mungo's for their own health. "There's nothing I can do."

**M**cGonagall sighed as she nodded. "I understand." Fire lit in the depths of her dark eyes momentarily. "Damn that minister." She spat, as she stared at the boys in the beds. Pomfrey nodded in hearty agreement. "If only she'd left Potter and Malfoy alone, both caught up in circumstance. This would never had happened if Albus were alive."

"This would never have happened if the Death Eaters hadn't arisen again!" Snapped Pomfrey coldly, her pale eyes sweeping the length of the hospital wing. "Honestly, claiming that Harry Potter is a danger. Utterly ridiculous."

"What's even worse is that Shacklebolt actually fell to paranoia!" McGonagall snarled angrily. A sharp snap of her hand had Poppy Pomfrey stuttering to a halt in the rest of her tirade. "Nonetheless, it's done. Over and done with as the muggles say."

**P**omfrey nodded again, albeit slower and with far less enthusiasm. "Indeed." She murmured.

"Keep me updated on their health, won't you?" McGongall asked. Pomfrey agreed quietly as she slunk back to her office, while McGongall left the hospital wing, thanking her lucky stars that it was a Friday today, and so the young men would have the weekend to recover. Sadly, McGonagall had forgotten that on Saturday was Remembrance Day, and as usual Harry and Draco would be asked to speak. A hard task for all involved.

* * *

**S**aturday dawned bright and early as it was wont to do, the sky clear and blue and the grass dipped and bowed in the light breeze. Draco awoke as he always did, heart heavy and eyes dulled with fatigue. Beside him struggled the thin and tired body of Harry, the other man a mirror image for himself. With weary movements they robed themselves and slunk away like shadows to their rooms for a bit of fortification and courage.

**T**he stage was set in polished pine and clad in gold and silver, black had no place at the celebrations planned for this afternoon. Certainly it was called Remembrance Day, but remembering had little to do with it, Ministry propaganda spelling the day as the day that Voldemort had died with no price. As Draco mounted the steps, his green eyes downcast he knew precisely the price they had paid. Some, like Ron, Snape, Dumbledore and Fred had paid with their lives, others like the aurors had paid with their blood, sweat and tears. And then others like himself and Harry, had paid with their innocence, their childhoods and their futures. Harry wasn't sure who had lost the war, some days he was glad it was Voldemort, others he wished it had been Harry and the Light. And those days when he thought that, Draco once again thought about suicide and ending it all, but he never did.

**D**raco walked behind Harry to their seats, bodies bowed as they always were, burdened with the price they had personally paid, the Minister, Janice Knowles welcomed them with a bright and cheery smile. Knowles had fled to America during the war, her blue eyes knew no war, terror or hate, she was bureaucracy at its best. Shacklebolt had been displaced not long after the war had ended, deemed to be too 'new' his changes scaring the still frightened wizarding world, and Knowles had pandered to the hidebound citizens, assuring that any change that occurred would only be necessary, not frivolous like Shaklebolts legislation. Draco hated her, his grey eyes hard as he stiffly bid his mouth to smile. It wouldn't.

**D**raco seated himself, dressed in plain black robes, beside his friend, who was also dressed completely in black. Harry was wooden in his chair, and he stared out over the masses with cold green eyes. Draco slid his eyes from Harry to where Knowles was happily blustering her way through the third annual celebration of Voldemort's defeat by the Man-Who-Conquored. Once again she made ridiculous commentary, based on her image of Harry, rather than the actual, bruised person he was. Draco could see the cool eyes of their students as they listened in the stands of the Quidditch pitch to their Minister once again act like an idiot. Nothing would change though, nothing could, before Harry was allowed to speak he was excessively drilled in what he had to say. Not that it had changed once in the three years. And the masses who never would, never could meet Harry himself, never knew that Harry died a little each time he spoke the Ministry approved speech. Never saw the mental damage that occurred to the survivors and fighters as he spoke, dull green eyes, wooden posture and emotionless voice. A puppet on a string.

**D**raco sighed and turned his face away, ashamed for his own cowardice, his own propaganda included denouncing himself and any one who prescribed to the darker side of magic. Blood and cruel hearted, it was potent and powerful, dancing just out of reach, a wizard or witch who was dark needed to wrestle and fight their magic for it to work. They needed to feel, to breathe all that was life, was death, it was sexual, it was freedom, it was cold, uncaring, heated and loud, dark magic was nothing like the insipid light. It never filled you with good feelings, taunting as it was just out of reach, it hated and loved with as much powerful and scalding lay icy passion as a tempestuous lover. And Draco admitted to feeling cold and alone now he was unable to practice it, like a frigid lover it lay just out of reach, betrayed and angry, coldly glaring in his direction.

**H**arry turned to him, brushing an elbow along his side, digging in slightly. Draco leaned his head slightly, grey eyes curious as he ever so slightly acknowledged the movement, the gesture. Rarely, if ever would Harry speak on this day, but, he supposed with dulled curiosity it wasn't as surprising as it could have been. The past week had been spent in idle thought, angry words, crying, weeping and in conversation with the only other man who knew his feelings, could relate and support him.

**H**arry breathed out, his words barely there as his lips fluttered like a silk cloth in the wind. "You feel it too, don't you?"

**D**raco didn't need to ask what. He felt it each and every day, sorrow and anger clouding his thoughts. Weeping could only get you so far. He breathed out, words whispering across parched and cracked lips. "Yes."

**H**arry hummed lightly, deeply, like a cat purring, only noise was sorrowful, dragging him deeply, clawing at his emotions. Yes, he felt it. The betrayal to their fellows, compatriots and enemy fighters. Both sides of the war were forgotten in this elaborate hoax, faux pas of a charade. Coldly ignoring the facts of the past, a past not three years old. "I want to tell them."

"Tell them?" Draco breathed, his eyes lighting with hope. The barest hope. Hope is one of the most deadliest feelings, one of the most poignant, it can lift a man to the highest heights and can bring him crashing back down, far quicker than had he jumped from a ten story building. Hope is deadly, it is cruel, it is what keeps us all alive.

"The truth, Draco. You feel the betrayal, to your magic, to your people. They are blinded by what hey don't want to see."

**D**raco couldn't argue that, they were indeed blinded, they eyes blinkered by a fear of change. They were sweltering in their hidebound values, rigidly adhering to customs that are so far out of date that they might well be dinosaurs. Draco sighed, a heavy sort of sigh, gathering his courage and dedication and nodded stiffly.

**H**arry sat straighter, his green eyes brightening and he slid his eyes to their escort. John Dawlish, an idiot to be sure, but there was the slightest smirk adorning his lips. He'd heard.

**D**awlish smiled faintly. "Don't let me stand in your way, it needs to be done."

**D**raco relaxed and inclined his head ever so slightly, once more, in acknowledgement for Dawlish's words. "Pass the words?"

**K**nowles had finished her speech and was now introducing Harry to the eagerly awaiting crowd. Above them all the sun beat down mercilessly, as if in condemnation of the words Knowles spilled from her heavily made up lips, white teeth flashed in the light, artificially bring about hope and prayers. The wood chairs sank in the turf as three hundred guests sat straighter and deeper as Harry approached the podium, behind the boy hero, now man, stood the firm and sure presence that was Draco Malfoy. Draco gazed out over the crowd, his students above him breathlessly silent as they felt the slight stirrings of anticipation. There were few times when Draco and Harry stood firm together, each time had been to unleash a shit storm of epic proportions, their eyes cold and calculating and voice whip sharp as they metaphorically carved their victims flesh into strips.

"Lords, Ladies, Teachers, Students and Honoured Guests," Harry began, his voice wavering like a reed in a storm. "I come before you today with a different speech than was planned. My friend here, Draco Malfoy and I have always been on opposite sides of the fence when it comes to our beliefs, magic and sympathies. Or at least, so it was before the war."

**H**arry swallowed and started once again, his voice noticeably thicker. "One might say that enemies can never be friends, well I happen to disagree, and today my former enemy and I would like to share a story with you. A story of two boys, similar boys, with similar lives.

"One of these boys was named Tom Marvolo Riddle and he was born in London on the thirty first of December in nineteen twenty-seven. He grew up in an orphanage, alone, unloved and bullied by adults and children alike. He grew up in a time where money was scarce and the muggle world was recovering from war and terror. He was approached, like so many before him, by a man with a letter. I'm sure you all know this man and the letter he carries. His name was Albus Dumbledore and the letter was to the prestigious school named Hogwarts." Harry paused and took a deep breath and met Horace Slughorns eyes, the older man was weeping already, he knew what was happening, and he bowed his head in remembrance for the boy he once knew, once taught, once encouraged and had such high hopes for.

"Tom Riddle arrived at Hogwarts a muggle-born student, or so everyone thought. He was sorted into Slytherin and for the next seven years delighted and surprised his teachers with his brilliance, his work ethic and his utter dedication to the magical world that he was fast becoming a prodigy in. During these seven years Tom made friends, discoveries and leaps and bounds in the study of magic itself. His friends were as loyal as any, driven by a desire to impress Tom and to even earn his love. His discoveries included learning that he was the Heir of Salazar Slytherin himself and that he was a parseltongue. His very nature was such that he pushed the barriers of magic herself to their fullest extent, barriers that were perhaps better left alone.

"Tom Riddle graduated at the top of his class and with everyone's expectations riding on him immediately went into business, not as his teachers expected at the ministry, but with a little known shop called Borgin and Burkes. From there Tom learnt everything British magical culture could teach him and then disappeared for the next ten years. During that time he fashioned a new name for himself and once again learnt secrets and magic best left undisturbed. However, in the fifties Tom once again returned, experience and knowledge of a hundred different magics under his belt, and he returned, originally, to teach his discoveries to the fresh faced youngsters of the next generations. How life might have changed had Professor Dumbledore accepted this application, I don't know, nor do I wish to speculate, however, it was perhaps for the best that Professor Dumbledore refused and sent Tom on his way. After all, as the man himself had said during that interview, 'whispers of your actions have reached your old school Tom.'"

**H**arry paused once again, he'd gained confidence in the telling, his green eyes hardening with resolve and he'd steadfastly ignored the violent motions of the Minister as shed leapt up to pull him from the podium. Not that her actions would have changed anything, the audience was far to enraptured with the words Harry was speaking, his measured cadence enrapturing the crowd as his previous, propaganda filled speech never could nor would. Harry drew in a deep breath and continued once more. Steeling himself for the reactions of the crowd.

"Now, there is a reason why I am telling you this today, because it is the history of a man who was seen as nothing more than a butcherer, a murderer. A man, who to this day, is still a mystery to his victims and followers." Harry gritted his teeth and as Tim himself had done some nine years ago, scratched out the words: _Tom Marvolo Riddle_.

**H**arry stood stiffly, watching the audience read the fiery bright letters that had appeared above them, above the podium, glittering maliciously like a fiery brand. He then, with a sweep of his wand sent the letters into a scattering formation, only to rearrange into the still, very familiar words that once again to this day drove a nail spike of terror into his heart as he remembered the events that followed and the cold and cunning expression that had taken over his face. _I Am Lord Voldemort_.

"Silence!" Harry roared as the crowd leapt backwards, the letters fading once more into thin air. "This is the man who killed, tortured, pillaged, raped not only those innocent of any wrong doing, but his own followers. Tom Riddle was a bully who knew the power of fear. From a young age he could control his magic, make it do his bidding. Tom Riddle was a strong and powerful wizard who preferred to work in fear and hate, his blood red eyes and crazed mind were constantly filled with it. You have nothing to be frightened of Voldemort, all I ask is that you remember that a little love could have saved this young boy who was forced to experience fear and loneliness from a young age, forced to instil fear of himself and his 'freaky' powers at a young age to survive. As a teenager, a developmentally important period, he was forced to watch as death was doled out upon London and around the area he lived. Desensitised and lonely Tom Riddle fought back in the only way he knew how. In death and destruction."

**T**here was silence now as people thought upon Harry's words, their minds sorrowed by the implication of a magical child being forced to endure an abusive childhood. But Harry wasn't finished yet, and he once again drew a deep breath and spoke again.

"I'll turn your attention to another little boy now, myself in fact. Like Tom Riddle I was born on the thirty first, but while Tom was birthed in winter, I came into this world in summer to parents who fought in a war. Targeted at a young age owing to a prophecy my parent and I went into hiding. There, on Halloween, Voldemort sought us out and killed my parents. Not much is known by people about that night, save for those who were there. My father was entertaining me as I understand it, blowing bubbles from his wand. My mother entered the room and decided that it was late enough to out me to bed. It was then that my father felt the wards fail, shouting for my mother to run and take me with her, my father ran to the front door forgetting his wand on the side table. He was killed instantly. My mother made it as far as the nursery were she attempted to apparate only to find that anti-apparition wards were in place. By which stage it was too late to run downstairs and outside, let alone climb from the window. Voldemort walked into the nursery and asked my mother to step aside, his voice cold and cruel as he ordered her aside. My mother, being the brave woman she was begged and pleaded for Voldemort to leave me be and take her life instead, tired of her hysterics, Voldemort killed her." Harry's breathing was ragged and short, his eyes welling with tears.

"I hear this each time dementors are around me.

"At any rate, Voldemort failed in his task to kill me and I was removed from the wreckage and taken to my Aunt and Uncles house on Surrey, where for the next ten years I spent my life sleeping under the stairs in a cupboard, being verbally abused by my relatives and bullied by my cousin and his gang. It is because of this that I can truly see why Tom turned out as he did, but unlike Tom I received small kindnesses over this period of time, and so I never lost hope, or faith in humanity as I might have had no one seen the abuse, had no one spared a caring glance for a young boy who had no where else to go. And like Tom, at eleven I was removed from my abusive environment and taken to Hogwarts where I made friends and overcame many challenges. Over the years I grew and faced Voldemort in his many incarnations, once as a spirit, another when Tom was the sixteen year old memory preserved in a diary and then once more at his resurrection in my fourth year. I had my doubts a lot of the time, I more often than not hated the wizarding world for their fickle fecklessness and unwillingness to stand up and fight for their own rights. More than once I cursed myself and my luck and often contemplated taking my own life. And at seventeen Tom and I had our prophesied showdown here at Hogwarts. It was seventy years in the making and took less than ten minutes. Arguably nothing has changed since the moment."

**H**arry stood straighter and taller, his chest iron strong as he breathed in once more, fortitude and courage strengthening his back and legs, tears drying on his face. "It is because of this that I come before you today, begging you, pleading you, do not allow this to happen once more. Do not let our children go through what Tom went through, do not let them lose hope and faith, do not leave them alone in their hour of need. Remember this, remember Tom's story, remember those who fought for you all, who fought for freedom, courage and fortitude. Remember this, that where there is darkness, one need only turn on the light."

**D**raco stepped up, his own shoulders stiff and he stared out over the gathering, Harry slipping away to stand at his back. Draco sighed and straightened. "Like Harry has said, today is called Remembrance Day for a reason, and this reason is this, today is not a holiday, nor a day for celebration, today is a warning of what can happen of we forget to see the troubles of the world. Today is for remembering the dead, those who are lost and gone. What is not lost was the cause we all fought for. I myself was a death eater, my reasons for being one was for my right to use dark magic, labelled evil by those who cannot control it. Someone once told me that dark does not always equate evil and light does not always equate good and that we all have a little light and dark within us, it only matters which side we act upon. The man who told me that was Harry Potter, but he himself was repeating words told to him by his own godfather, the second victim of the second war, Sirius Black, a man innocent of the crimes that he was committed of, jailed for twelve years for a crime his best friend set him up for. The crime of selling out Lily and James Potter to the Dark Lord, a crime Peter Pettigrew committed on that fateful Halloween night.

"The first victim was one we all know, a man who was loyal, brave and faithful in life and death, Cedric Diggory, seventeen years old and the Tri-Wizard champion for Hufflepuff. From there the deaths increase, numbering in the hundreds and I am going to read out a list of them now, that I have compiled." Draco said, swallowing thickly and with the help of Harry and Dawlish, who felt that the two young men needed the extra support, read out seven hundred names, their ages, and where they'd died. It was a harrowing ordeal, for the younger students, particularly the muggle born, it was hard to fully appreciate the scale of the death and destruction, statistics are just numbers on a page, but as the men read each name and age out it became fully apparent just how badly this war had affected everyone. Before the tenth name was read out everyone had stood in respect and honour for the dead, and finally, among those who had list just as much as they, the war veterans wept and grieved as was proper for their loved ones, those who hadn't been intimately involved but equally affected also wept, tears making tracks down pale faces as Slytherin and Gryffindor acknowledged the deaths, the memories and the pain that the man named Tom Riddle had caused the all, the history, the people, the blood, the pain felt by all as they stood beneath a hot spring sun and wept for the fallen.

**A**s dusk fell and the sky turned a bloody gold the Quidditch pitch stood darkly beneath the ruddy sky, black velvet trees stood silent sentinels and the breeze whispered through shadowed grass. Behind them all stood the monolithic structure of Hagwarts herself, shrouded in shadow and hazily lit up in the flickering golden light of torches, throwing her ancient stones in sharp relief against the darkening night sky. Beneath her shrouded gloom stood two shadows in a courtyard made of stone, behind them, the day light echoed all glittering and golden behind a screen of sorrow and remembrance, dulled by the grief of ages the men stood beside the cold stone fountain, the gathering darkness obscuring them in her shadowed folds. In the newness of night and vaguely held promises by higher up, the men knelt to stroke the gathered cats, tears rolling down their cheeks as they paid homage to their lost and fallen, minds forever turned to the past as they breathed deeply and silently. Above them the stars winked and twinkled, dancing with cold delight as the men quietly conversed, chilled silence settling within their bones, eques turned to the east waiting for the cold break of dawn.

**L**ike a hesitant thread of time, unwilling and uncertainly making an appearance, a splice of golden warmth hit the solid grey stones of the castle, and like a warm breath of summer and heat, the sun climbed the horizon, unsure of its reception at this early hour. Below the rolling hills, the rocky crags and the harsh features of an age old castle, two men stood in silent formation, shoulder to shoulder, cool grey and green eyes watching the light pierce the darkness and chase the night away. Together the turned in concert, voices silenced by the cool crisp dawn and moved into the shadowed halls within the noiseless building. Faint echoes traced their steps towards their beds, they had awaited and heralded the dawn their breaths had voiced hushed names to be carried upon the new and fragile suns rays.

**T**he days would turn and months would be whiled away in silence, but eventually there would be healing and the eventual reformation of the wizarding world, but for now, those below, in the shadowed bulk that was Hogwarts, would wait for their turn. And one with grey eyes sits in his courtyard and discusses life, death and war with his green eyed companion. They while away the hours locked in their fragile fortress talking about a wise old man they once knew and his ideas about the world and war. And in the agreement brewed from cynicism and the loss of innocence whilst they were young, both mutually approved that peace and love were neither better nor worse than war itself, the drudgery and forgetfulness brewed by peace was necessarily off-set by the clash and clamour of war and change and that the man was once correct in saying not to pity the dead, for the living are indeed far worse off. And as the sun sets to the west, and darkness falls, the grey eyed one stands and quotes a muggle man who they both agree got it right.

"I think it is naive to pray for peace if we are not going to change the form in which we live."

* * *

_A/N: quote by Godfrey Reggio._

_Sad fic that will hopefully make you think, I don't believe that people immediately got up after the war and were okay, particularly those who fought in it and while I have manipulated the events for my own purposes, I nonetheless stand by my belief that there would have been a period where those who fought would have battled against depression and survivors guilt. Which is what dogs Harry and Draco's steps in this, I hope that I haven't over done this, anyway, enjoy and think while you read. _

_Regards, AHBK1_


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